


A Goddess Unfathomable

by slasher48



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Season/Series 09, Consent Issues, Consent Play, Demonization of a Female Demon, Episode: s07e21 Reading is Fundamental, F/M, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, References to Drugs, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher48/pseuds/slasher48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg's newest pet angel takes her back in time to speak with herself. It's not like she could find <i>better</i> company, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Goddess Unfathomable

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: detached understanding of abuse from a character and perhaps attendant victim-blaming.

"Do me, [Douma](http://whisperingworlds.com/angel/angelnames_d.php)," she says sometimes when they're alone (and he hasn't the need to correct her pronunciation when she's so joyous), her smoke winding to the tips of the sturdy fingers in the thick body she's chosen to inhabit, her [smog-and-burns ](http://selfihateyouithink.tumblr.com/post/46382530966/flutiebear-spn-rants-hi-im-meg-im-a)face twisting in amusement behind the face she wears like a particularly expressive hat, high cheekbones and lips the color of the pale violet horizon moving under her amusement.

Her vessel is lovely by human standards, he thinks, soft dark skin draped in a skirt of silk, a vest of dark cotton stretched perfectly over her torso, and sometimes he sets aside the consciousness allowing that he can see behind so often that he forgets that body is a soulless stifling chimney. It's not that he cannot bear the knowledge, but that it becomes harder to override the Plan's instructions to punish, to  _kill_ , when he is staring at something that by any angel's standards should be hideous, wretched.

She seems to like it when his own soulless, comparatively stale vessel's right eyebrow lifts and his lips purse, as though in perturbation. He cannot always guess why, considering how well she enjoys the times when he calls her his goddess and falls to his knees before her in reverence, submissive to the end, a moving, twisting, silent yet noisy blasphemy. But part of why he chose her has much to do with how confusing she is, kissing him one moment and glaring at him the next when he does not respond to silver-tongued falseties. 

Perhaps the last angel she met was not as apprised of demonic tactics as he is, he had thought before; perhaps that brother fell easier, prey she managed to catch even if that clearly did not last. It must be difficult, as a demon, to find an angel who can be taken in, as none  _will_ like he will.

The night she says "Do this for me, Douma," and turns out to be asking for a hand touched to her vessel's freckled arm and a spin through the nonlinear web of time in this single dimension, he finds out.

She goes to what he immediately recognizes as her own smog-and-burns form filling a younger vessel in hospital scrubs, stands beside this other vessel whose arms are crossed and eyes are rolled upward in a way that he has heard humans find painful after a while--appear to have been for quite a long time. There is a brother he does not immediately recognize pressed up against the window before this younger vessel, this Nurse Meg who is almost radiating annoyance but nods encouragingly when the brother, wearing a man, looks over one shoulder with excitement Douma does not understand. (It is a blasphemy, he knows, but God's greatest creations, Earth and humans, have long begun to feel like just the calm before the inevitable storm of demonic cruelty and colorless smoke.) 

"The simple, unshakable plan of the bees, it's incredible, isn't it?" this unknown brother says, his True Voice like the bells of Notre Dame near where he and Meg often sojourn, his vessel's tone deep and low, no purpose in his limbs or his Grace but to stare through a glass pane with rapturous blue eyes that only barely contain those that are innumerable within.

Both Megs answer with a saccharinely sweet, "Wonderful, Clarence." and then stare at each other in shock. This brother called 'Clarence' does not appear to realize he has an audience more than singular; odd, as Douma has not cloaked himself or his goddess.

"Y'know, I told people I was in love with that bee-loving jackass for a while," his Meg says, and Nurse Meg's smoke whirls angrily as the vessel's well-shaped eyes widen. Her smoke settles and the burns on her face clench as her vessel's finger gestures at the quiet brother who remains still and watchful as though the world around him but for bees does not faze his senses.

" _That_ guy? You really thought you--we--are the type to settle down with a hippie freak like that? I've seen cokeheads in Hollywood who're less out of it. If not for the nuclear-powered smacks to the forehead and the _view_ doing sponge baths, I'd have peaced the fuck out  _yesterday."_

His Meg chuckles fondly at herself and claps a hand to a shoulder clad in scrubs. Dark curls bob, brush dark skin; her paler counterpart snorts as she smirks. "I never said I  _was_. Just that the killer male models and their angel pal thought so. Don't get me wrong, he can be fun to screw with, and after how you got to him 'round now, he never really drops that 'crush' of his, so you've pretty much got yourself an annoying but cosmically powerful puppy on your hands. But...you and I both know the 'weird enough to fight but not get all smite-happy' is half the appeal, so-"

Nurse Meg nods, glancing at the beekeeper angel in a way that her smoke fights to push out of her toward his brother. She clearly sees the 'appeal' in a way his Meg's stable smoke and level gaze does not. It doesn't surprise him, knowing what he knows of his goddess; she had been seeking an angel to use and abuse to her life's content long before she found him, and he is lucky to be that for her, lucky that she seems to be satisfied with his own offerings.

"Can't believe they  _bought_ it, y'know? I mean, Clarence, yeah, get him in the right mood and angelcake'll believe the ceiling's caving in if you fake it right, but the Winchesters? I gotta deal with those dicks every day and big bro  _always_ asks me if I went rogue and offed the angel yet." They share a smirk this time, and Nurse Meg snorts again, "It's like they don't know me at  _all_. if I'd gotten a taste for a little smiting of my own--" she nods toward the blade of a fallen brother under her vessel's arm.

His Meg cuts in, grey eyes bright with laughter, "You wouldn't stick around to answer the damn  _phone_ _."_ They both laugh, and Douma almost smiles. It's nice to see his goddess has a kindred spirit in her past self. Their loud, raucous laughter gathers the attention of his brother, though, who turns to the three of them, demons standing close and Douma behind in his rather lean, tanned vessel, metal in its eyebrow and ear. The blue eyes and the eyes behind meet his own--green, if he recalls--and widen.

"You brought me an _angel_ , Meg." And then he notices her duplicate, "And a second you? I don't think the doctors will like this, and you know how I feel about upsetting anyone." From whimsical to serious his brother changes very quickly, but then his strange smile returns and he walks up to the Megs. Douma's attention is irrevocably drawn to this; he must admit he is very curious to see how his Meg will speak with this 'Clarence'.

But she doesn't, and in fact seems content to just observe.

"Don't worry, Clarence, I'll take care of it," Nurse Meg says sweetly, in a tone that is as deadly as it is inviting, like the aural equivalent of a poisonous flower. Douma finds it fascinating but false, but this brother of his, more like a human than any other angel he has met, obviously believes. Dark hair falls on his vessel's forehead as he bobs his head, his eyes very trusting.

"I know, I know you're good to me, that you understand me, as I do you," he says, his eyes appraising. His Meg's lips quirk as Nurse Meg's smoke coils like a snake inside her vessel, befitting her soft reply.

"We're two of a kind, Clarence, and when we get out of this place and the chompers have taken a one-way back to someplace far from here...we can start to work it out...start to heal. I'll be with you every step, okay?" Douma can taste the duplicity, but his brother is _enchanted_ by her words in a way he would not expect from any self-respecting angel.

"We can watch the bees...Our Father was so cruel to give peace to them and leave us to fight, to create conflict at every turn." Nurse Meg nods, crossing her fingers behind her back so that her other self sees and stifles a loud belly laugh. The enticing thickness of her vessel vibrates with it, and her grey eyes squeeze shut. Nurse Meg elbows her as Clarence turns away, and calls to the angel, who's gone to sit on a bed that appears to be his own, that they will return from the cafeteria soon.

Douma cloaks them at last and follows behind. Nurse Meg answers her cell phone mid-recriminatory scoff at the food in this building (and Douma, who has eaten little despite Meg's fancy for it, is confused, because why would something like rubber be served to humans for nourishment) and sighs huffily, "Yeah, Dean?"

"He's fine, jeez, ain't bugging me enough yet for me to grab a vat of blue cheese and fry up some wings."

Shouting comes clear through the phone, a man's voice, panicked and furious, and if Douma were anyone else, he'd probably chastise Meg.

He isn't, he listens to her laugh with her future self, and hopes his brother is better off than this situation suggests. His brother's Grace is pure and his constitution suggests many terrors but a calm acceptance of their result, and this man calling Meg appears to value him. He is here for Meg, of course he grasps this, but it's hard not to want happiness for an angel who so obviously has lacked it thus far. Perhaps his years of watching demons punished and humans transformed have softened him.

"Will you quit, dickbreath, I'm joking. I mean, he  _is_ a bit of a handful, but if the King shows up he's also #409 demon remover, so it all evens out. He'll have all his pieces when you get here to pick up your  _precious Cas_."

His Meg is snickering even as they invisibly walk into the cafeteria, but Douma is overwhelmed by the sudden revelation that the angel of whom they speak, the doe-eyed beekeeping mess of innocence and idle wisdom left in that room on that bed is  _Castiel_. He has heard of that angel, has seen the beautiful, wise, obedient Form of the brother who pulled Michael's sword from Alastair's clutches only once, but it appears that much has changed. He stares at Meg in shock; she _cowed_ an angel so powerful. She is a goddess of a caliber Heaven itself could not fathom.

When she decrees they should return to the time of Abaddon's rule, to their hotel in Nice, he'll worship her as she deserves.

For now, he sits beside her, beside both of them as they chat, with bitter amusement at the Winchesters' lack of trust and the legendary Castiel's unthinking and desperate devotion, and silently marvels at the resilience and resourcefulness of such broken, even destroyed creatures. Perhaps he will request after they leave to come back again at a future time, so he can watch them again and again, even offer himself to her past form, beautifully relaxed with his goddess's after hearing of Crowley's demise.

Nurse Meg has hung up the phone on this 'Dean' she so loathes-- _the_ Dean Winchester, if that was Castiel, apparently unpleasant of manner to a demon, and is saying now that his brother will not "put up" no matter the amount he says he owes her, or of times she makes her intentions clear, despite how convincingly kind she's been. She needn't be kind to Douma; he will put up whatever she desires. He  _will_ request to do that in the future. He can be everything his brother was and was not, everything she needs, and never have to return to his post guarding Hell again.

**Author's Note:**

> Because the Queen of Hell needs a pet who doesn't actually give a fuck about his own consent--she sure as hell doesn't.


End file.
